Dog in a Red Sweater…Living a Pantoum
I used to work with a man who was brilliant. He wasn’t
disorganized, but his attention was easily pulled away from what he was doing.
You could be having a discussion with him; he would look out the window while
you were mid-sentence and say “Look!!! A dog in a red sweater!!”
That is like living a Pantoum, a form where you often don’t
know where your poem is going to end up, no matter where you start.
Example: You go into to the kitchen to put away the dishes.
While doing that, you notice a few dishes in the sink to wash. Standing at the
kitchen sink, you look out the window and notice the rosemary bushes are
starting to grow over the window edge, and tender rosemary blossoms are
delicious in your salad. So you go outside to trim the rosemary bushes. While coming
back in the house, dang, when was the last time the window box in front was
watered? So you water the window box, and come back into the house with fresh
rosemary.
You started out putting away dishes, and ended up with
rosemary for your salad. That is like living a Pantoum. Just like Thursday
morning. I started writing this post—unexpected thunder and lightning was my
dog in a red sweater. I had to stop writing and go watch.
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If your attention is easily waylaid, it might be hard to
focus on writing. In the book Ron Carlson Writes a Story, he says “The most
important thing a writer can do after completing a sentence is to stay in the
room”. He goes on to say “The great temptation is to leave the room to celebrate
the completion of the sentence, or to go out in the den where the television
lies like a dormant monster and rest up for a few days for the next sentence,
or to go wander the seductive possibilities of the kitchen”.
Ron is talking about fiction writers, but the same applies
to poets. You’ve written the first line, or the first stanza. Maybe just a
great title. You have to stay in the room. My husband Jeff and I agree that no
matter what we’re doing, our kids always come first. I do think that applies to
writing, but that may be the only interruption allowed. As Ron says, “Now would
be a great time for a cup of coffee. I might be able to do some better thinking
out in the kitchen with Mr. Coffee and Mr. Refrigerator, and oh, there in the
other room is Mr. Television, and there’s Mr. Bed. And others. No, we won’t go there."
So let’s write a Pantoum. It may be the only form I’ve ever
written besides free verse and prose, although I recognize others. I have to
look up the instructions every time I write one. In other words, a Pantoum is a
deliberate act for me. The instructions are in the hyperlinks above. Use the one that works best for you.
Somewhere Between Doubt and Hunger
A priest cleans his nails with a
pocketknife,
rubs his thumb over its scrimshaw
mermaid.
There’s a blonde outside he hopes
catches his eye
like most of his prayers, this
one is wasted.
He rubs his thumb over the
scrimshaw mermaid
an old man, he tilts his head as he
listens.
Like most of his prayers, this one
is wasted
more shaky than dreams, his bones
are tired.
An old man, he tilts his head as he
listens
to traffic and rain on the northbound
freeway
more shaky than dreams, his bones
are tired
face gaining in years but the eyes
are the same.
Traffic and rain on the northbound
freeway
“come in” she says, “sit anywhere
you want”.
Face gaining in years but the eyes
are the same
as the wonder-haired boy’s many
lifetimes ago.
“Come in” she says, “sit where you
want”
she misnames him “Dave” like
somebody’s ghost
the wonder-haired boy from
lifetimes ago
pulls at his collar and
acknowledges hunger.
She misnames him “Dave” like
somebody’s ghost
her pale hand stirring a whirlpool
of stillness
he pulls at his collar,
acknowledges hunger
settles into eggs with ham and
burnt toast.
Her pale hand stirring a whirlpool
of stillness
the bar-closers come, let the
perfect stay home.
He settles into eggs with ham and
burnt toast
with grace and sly glances, he
leaves them all be.
The bar-closers come, let the
perfect stay home
there’s a blonde outside he hopes
catches his eye
with grace and sly glances he
leaves them all be
he, the priest, cleans his nails with
a knife.
Previously
published in Bellowing Ark
The poem goes all over the place. I had no idea where it was
going to go when I wrote the first stanza.
Important Notes on
Pantoums in my opinion:
- They can be as many
stanzas as you want
- The repeating lines do not
have to rhyme. Mine rarely do
- The repeating lines can
change a little. They don’t have to be exact (see the first line and the
last line of the poem above as an example)
- Don’t panic reading the
instructions. Go slow. They make sense.
- Dogs do not wear red
sweaters. Get your coffee, trim your rosemary, put away your dishes, sit down and write!!
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Tobi Alfier's most recent collection of poetry is Slices Of Alice. She is also co-editor with Jeff Alfier of the San Pedro River Review. Don't miss Tobi's columns on the craft of poetry: insert your email address in the "Follow By Email" box to the right of this article and you'll be notified every time a new article appears.
